Turn, and Turn Again
by Ramarama
Summary: "Chris Argent was coming to realize that in retrospect, Paris had perhaps not been the best choice for a summer away..." The Argents adventure in the City of Lights. Allison is blue, Chris drinks a lot of coffee and keeps his guns loaded. He's getting too old for this shit... Missing story arc between S2-3.


A/N: I'm not sure what strange plot-bunny brought this on. But Dad!Argent is the best.

Disclaimer: Roses are red, violets are blue. Me no own, so you no sue.

* * *

Chris Argent was coming to realize that in retrospect, Paris had perhaps not been the best choice for a summer away. But where were you supposed to take your daughter after her aunt had been revealed as a murderess and then had her throat ripped out, her mother had killed herself, and her grandfather had turned her friend into a killer lizard mind-slave? He'd bought some books, but _Helping Your Teen Cope With Grief_ hadn't really dealt with this precise issue.

The book _had_ said that a change of scenery could be beneficial. He had fond memories of coming to Paris with Victoria for their honeymoon; placing a lock next to the Seine, getting their portrait done at Place du Tertre, roaming the Champs-Elysees with a bottle of wine. He'd thought it would be nice for Allison to spend some time away from Beacon Hills and everything it symbolized.

Ducking out from behind the ornate column, Chris emptied a clip in the general range of the vampire nest. He had apparently forgotten that the ancient city was also home to a large and old supernatural community, one that hadn't taken kindly to the intrusion of two newlywed hunters who wanted to stir up trouble. It had been fun, dashing through the dark streets with Victoria, breathless and hopped up on adrenaline, guns in hand.

It was _less_ fun when all you wanted to do was drink your coffee and eat your pain au chocolat and wander through the Louvre with your grieving daughter in peace. The supes hadn't particularly appreciated his return, even nearly two decades later, and it was all he could do to keep the baddies away without Allison catching on.

Not that she was particularly observant these days, his daughter. She gamely followed him around the city's sights, posing for pictures and letting him buy her delicate scarves and lemon eclairs. But when he'd come up behind her in the Musee D'Orsay while she'd been listening to her audio tour, he'd discovered her staring unblinkingly at a small Gaugin in a corner while her audio guide repeated "_please proceed to the painting marked 13 and press play, please proceed to the painting marked 13 and press play_," over and over.

When questioned, she would smile quickly and assure him she was fine. And she would be, for a few minutes. But then the melancholy would creep back in, and she'd disappear back into her thoughts. The book called this "unconscious disconnection," and it was not a good sign.

But Chris didn't know what to do. He loved his daughter, but she had reached a period in life that was so far beyond his comfort-zone it verged on the comical. All he could do was keep his guns loaded and drink a lot of coffee.

Later, he paused to survey his reflection in the window of a darkened shop - combing his hair into something resembling order, and tugging up his collar to cover the blood on his shirt. Allison would hopefully be asleep now, or at least too preoccupied to ask questions.

But all the lights were on when he slipped into the room, and Allison was watching TV, looking the most alert she'd been since leaving California.

"I didn't think you'd still be awake," he said, grabbing a t-shirt from his bag and quickly heading for the bathroom to change.

"Oh, yeah. I guess I kind of got into this show. I think listening to people here is really helping my French comprehension."

The bright lights of the tiny bathroom highlighted the dark bags under his eyes, and Chris frowned at the sallow tint of his skin. So much for rest, relaxation, and recuperation. "That's great, honey." He didn't hear her reply over the running of the sink, scrubbing at the dried blood from where it crusted on his neck.

For so long, hunting was his whole life, but after seeing the destruction it wrought on his family in such a short time, he had begun to question if it's all been a terrible mistake. Allison, it is clear, will need to be kept out of it entirely, from now on. Chris was surprised at the lack of remorse he feels, thinking of leaving the family business. Training for hunters is designed to cull out anyone not strong enough to bear the burden, but occasionally someone wanted out. It wasn't unheard of, and the silence of the rest of the clan would seem to indicate their preference for this plan. A quiet exit, dignity intact.

Once he had sufficiently removed any damning traces of the night's exploits, he climbed into bed, contemplating a return to contracting. He still had some contacts with the DEA, and the border patrol in Texas was always buying. Allison would probably like the art scene in Austin. Maybe they could buy a ranch. Lots of space. No dogs.

"Dad?" Allison was looking at him with something like suspicion on her face. The TV was off now.

"Sorry, I was distracted. What was that?"

"I asked how your night was. You were gone for a long time."

He smiled tightly. "It's just such a beautiful city at night, I wanted to wander. But I'm a bit tired now, would you mind if I turn the lights off?"

She eyed him for another moment, then nodded and burrowed under the covers. "Goodnight, Dad."

"Goodnight, sweetheart."

* * *

In the morning, he excused himself to 'go for a run' so he could do a perimeter sweep before they head off for the day's activities, and managed to 'go buy a paper,' 'find some coffee,' 'check his email' to keep an eye on things while they were out. This was surprisingly difficult, because for the first time in the last week, Allison shows signs of life. At one point, she even strikes up a conversation with the young children ahead of them in line for the boat tour, and it brings out a genuine smile - smaller than before, but there just the same.

But for all the relief this brought him, she was certainly taking note of his disappearances now, frowning at his continued distraction. He managed to sneak out quickly while she was in the shower before dinner, but she didn't give him an opening to leave again until they're back in the hotel room for the night, by which time he was nearly twitching with anxiety, certain he'd find a triskele on their doorway. He made some excuse about getting a drink and practically ran from the room without waiting for her reaction.

No triskele in evidence, but three blocks away, he could hear the soft susurration of a vampire nest on the move, so last night's trouble had managed to track him down again. Great. He should have known better than to only bring the legal guns.

He stalked closer to the hushed forms in the next alleyway, but was entirely unprepared for another dark figure to suddenly emerge out of an open window above his head. A very familiar dark figure.

"_Allison_?" he hissed in disbelief.

She whirled, arrow aimed between his eyes. "_Dad?_" Yes, it was definitely his daughter.

But there's no time for him to yell at her (which, if they survive this, he is going to) because the vampires have heard them and the air is full of snarling monsters in very close proximity to his face. He blindly emptied a clip to give himself space to maneuver, but when he tried to push Allison behind him, she dodged his grasp and put three arrows in the nearest vamp without blinking. Clearly, they needed to have a _long_ discussion about this.

But first, vampires. He estimated the nest was only about ten of the creatures at this point - _nine_, he amended, when Allison brought down one that had been trying to drop on them. They only need to kill the nest mother, and the rest will be easy to break. Pausing to reload behind a dumpster, he glared at his daughter. "What _exactly_ are you doing here?"

She pulled a throwing knife from her boot, popped over the top of the dumpster and brought another vamp down. "I could say the same thing, Dad!"

He grimaced and they separate for a brief firefight. Back behind the cover of the bin, he passed her his own knife with a frown. "I'm trying to protect you from these damn vampires!"

Allison tossed the knife loosely, testing the weight. "Well, so am I, then. Cover me, I need arrows."

Chris obliged, but he was no less happy when she dived safely back in, four arrows clutched triumphantly in her hand. "And how exactly did you get a full-scale compound bow through airport security?"

She drew, sighting on the nearest vampire. "Same way you did, I would imagine. I got a permit."

"You got a _permit_?" He asked dumbly.

The bow sang, a vampire fell. His daughter shrugged, smirking slightly in the light from the streetlamp. "My paperwork says I'm scheduled to compete in a youth tournament at a school outside of Lyon next week. I even paid the registration fee."

He frowned and tracked the largest of the monsters. "There's the nest mother. Bring it down, then we'll talk about appropriate uses for your allowance."

Sixteen seconds later, the nest mother was dead. Eighteen seconds later, the remaining four vamps have fled. Chris straightened, surveying the deserted street as Allison calmly unstrings her bow, and begins gathering her spent arrows. He sighed. "I was trying to keep all this away from you. To give you space to grieve in peace. I was thinking maybe it's time to give this up, to go legitimate."

She swung her now-full quiver back over her shoulder. "I know, Dad. And I appreciate it. I want to take a break, I do. I need time. But…" she gestured at their muddy clothes and remaining weapons, "-this is _us_. We can try to be normal, we could make a go at it." She hitches up a shoulder. "I don't think it would work, though."

He sighed, and bid goodbye to the imaginary ranch in Austin, the cats they'd have, the state-of-the-art gun range. "You're probably right. I'm sorry all this followed us here. Maybe we should go home early."

For a moment, her expression was so like Victoria's that it made his heart clench. "Dad, we haven't even been to Versailles, yet. We can't miss _Versailles_."

"But...you're grieving. I read that-"

"Oh my god, _Dad_. If I say we're not going home until we see Versailles, we're not going home until we see Versailles. Forget about what it said about grieving in some stupid book. Honestly," she shrugged as they slowly trudge back towards the hotel, "-I was tracking the nest last night, and… and, it kinda felt good to just _kill_ something. Is that weird?" Her hands were fisted in the hem of her shirt, like she expects him to be disgusted by this admission.

Chris Argent looked down at his beautiful, strong, _far-too-young_ daughter, and smiled. "No, honey. That's not weird at all."

She smiled and slung an arm around his waist. "Versailles tomorrow?"

"Versailles tomorrow. You know, I heard there's another nest on the grounds there..."

"Oh, really? That sounds like we could hit two birds with one stone!"

"And then you have a tournament the next week?"

"In Lyon. Could I actually go?"

"It's your allowance money."

"But Dadddddd..."


End file.
